Time and Relative Dimensions in Baker Street
by bleproxursox
Summary: A murder that baffles even Sherlock, and a strange man calling himself 'The Doctor' moves into 221c.
1. Chapter 1

******Time and Relative Dimensions in Baker Street - Chapter 1**

"I'm BORED, John!" Sherlock Holmes yelled, pacing wildly around the room. It was around ten o'clock on a Wednesday morning in the middle of May, and Sherlock hadn't been on a case since Monday. John was sitting in his armchair, reading.

"Wasn't there some kind of murder thing in the paper this morning?" John asked, not bothering to look up.

"What? Where?" Sherlock snapped, snatching the morning paper out of John's hands. His eyes skimmed down the article on the front page, the headline of which read, 'Murder on Marylebone Street'.

"That headline makes it sound like some cheesy horror film." John said, rolling his eyes. "Tabloids."

But Sherlock wasn't listening. He'd pulled his phone out and was making a call.

"Lestrade, why didn't you tell me there'd been a murder?" He practically yelled down the phone. "I'm coming over now… I don't care if you're 'on top of things'… I'm so bored I'm going to shoot something, that's why." He hung up. "John, we're going to the crime scene."

"What?" John protested. "But I haven't even had breakfast yet."

"It's only round the corner. I think better on an empty stomach."

John knew it was no use complaining further. He followed Sherlock as he grabbed his coat and ran downstairs. On their way out they bumped into Mrs Hudson.

"Oh, are you boys off out?" She asked.

"There's been a murder just round the corner." John explained.

"That's a shame." She replied "I've got a nice man coming to look round the basement flat."

"Well I hope we get to meet him some other time. But for now I've got to trail around after Sherlock for a bit."

They rushed out of the door and down the street. In his excitement, Sherlock nearly knocked down a passing man.

"Sorry!" John yelled back, knowing Sherlock wouldn't.

"It's okay." The man smiled. He was young and slim, with longish brown hair. He was wearing a tweed jacket and a red bowtie, and he was heading up the steps to 221 Baker Street.

* * *

><p>Almost as soon as Sherlock and John left, the doorbell rang again. Mrs Hudson put down the cup of tea she'd just poured and went to answer it.<p>

"Hello!" The man outside beamed up at her. "You must be Mrs Hudson."

"You here for the flat?" She replied. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name when you phoned me."

"Doctor Smith. You can call me the Doctor."

"One of my boys upstairs is a doctor too! I'm afraid you've just missed the, they're off to visit a crime scene. Sherlock's a detective, you see. Would you like some tea before I show you the flat?"

"A cuppa would be lovely."

Mrs Hudson showed him in, and poured another cup of tea from the pot.

"Ah, you'll want references." The Doctor said, digging through his pockets. "I've done this before." He pulled out a smallish blue wallet and handed it to her.

"The Archbishop of Canterbury?" She exclaimed.

"Me and Archie go _way_ back." He said, and proceeded to down his tea in one gulp. "Right, onwards."

Mrs Hudson tentatively put down her still half full cup of now lukewarm tea, and followed the Doctor out the door and to 221c.


	2. Chapter 2

**I was completely mind blow with the feedback I got on the previous chapter. I was expecting about three people to read it, and would have been thrilled with just one review, and I got seven, and many, many alerts and favorites. I love you all. I'm going to try and update this every two weeks, but I have exams and stuff so unfortunately I can't make any promises. **

**Chapter 2**

"I still don't get why you needed to come." Lestrade complained as Sherlock strutted around the crime scene. "Everything's fine, just a regular murder. Admittedly, some of the circumstances were a bit weird, but nothing we can't-"

"Weird how?" Sherlock asked, appearing next to John and Lestrade seemingly out of nowhere.

"Well, the victim died of a bullet wound, but no one in the area heard a gunshot at the time of death-" But Sherlock didn't stick around for the end of the sentence. He walked off and began prowling around the area again.

"I wish he'd let me finish my sentences." Lestrade muttered. "But you know what I'd like to see? Him playing Cluedo."

John laughed. "Right, you're coming over on Saturday and we'll have a boardgame tournament. What do you want to bet he's the one who gets fed up half way through Monopoly and knocks the board over?"

"And then claims to have won? That's _definitely_ him. Should I bring Twister?"

"Mrs Hudson probably won't be able to join in with that one. But she could spin the spinner…"

They would have continued the conversation for a lot longer, but they were interrupted by a certain forensic scientist.

"Stop giggling, it's a crime scene, not a playground." Said Anderson. "And why does _it_ have to be here."

"'It' is called Sherlock. And he's here because he's threatening to shoot something. Again." John sighed.

"Well can he do us all a favour and just shoot himself. I've met dinosaurs with more personality." Anderson continued grumbling as he walked off.

"He's nice, isn't he." John muttered.

"I think I'm done here." Sherlock's voice came from behind John and Lestrade.

"Christ, Sherlock." John yelped, spinning round. "I wish you'd stop just appearing like that."

"Got anything?" Lestrade asked.

"A few things." Sherlock replied. "I need to see the body. John, we're off to Bart's."

* * *

><p>With a clunk, Mrs Hudson turned the key in the lock to 221c. The door opened with a creak; it had gotten slightly rusty from lack of use. A musty smell filled the room. The Doctor strode in, then swaggered round in a little circle, inspecting the area. His eyes fixed on a discoloured patch of wallpaper in the corner.<p>

"What's that?" He asked, pointing.

"Erm, that's a bit of mould, I'm afraid." Mrs Hudson replied, slightly embarrassed. "Unavoidable in basement flats, unfortunately."

"What will happen if I touch it?"

"Not a lot, I imagine…"

The Doctor stepped towards it, gingerly held out a finger, and prodded it.

Nothing happened.

Satisfied, he span around, smiling. "I'll take it!" He grinned. He pulled a paper bag out of his pocket and handed it to her. "Rent." He said by way of explanation. "Now if it's okay with you, I'll pop off and get my stuff."

"Erm. Yes. Of course." Mrs Hudson responded, slightly baffled by this man. As the Doctor pranced out the door and onto the street, she went back to her tea.

It was still warm enough to drink.


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry this is late. Again, thank you so much for all the feedback, it really means a lot.**

**Chapter 3**

Sherlock and John were regular visitors to the morgue when they were on a case, so it was no surprise to Molly when they swept in at nine thirty. The body had arrived five minutes ago, and she had only just uncovered it.

"Hello!" She greeted them both. John said hello back, but Sherlock practically ignored her.

"Male, mid thirties." He muttered to himself, pacing around the body. "Cause of death: bullet. Entry just above heart, no exit wound, so shot from a distance. Oh." He looked up.

"What?" John asked.

"The victim was found up against a wall in a corner, and going by the blood splatter he was shot there too. There was only one spot far away enough for the bullet to have lost enough velocity not to exit and yet still be an accurate shot, and there were no signs of anyone having been there on the last day. Something's wrong here."

"And did you breathe at all there? Anyway, this wouldn't be the first time we've dealt with a killer who can disappear."

"No, but they would've had to stand there for about a minute at least. It was a grassy patch and it rained yesterday afternoon. They would've left footprints, bent grass, something! It's like they were never there."

"Right." John nodded. "But we have to start somewhere. Er, the bullet will still be in the body, so we could retrieve it, maybe?"

"Erm. Yes." Molly said, and scuttled off to get something. She returned a minute later with an instrument resembling a pair of large tweezers. She pulled down the sheet and started probing them into the hole.

John jumped, sending a scalpel flying.

"What was that?" Sherlock asked.

"I thought I saw… I could've sworn its hand… Never mind."

Molly continued to wiggle the tweezers around. She had a slightly puzzled expression on her face.

"That's weird." She said. "It goes deeper than it looks. And it feels like something's pulling…"

John jumped again.

"Oh god I definitely saw it that time"

"What?" Sherlock and Molly asked simultaneously.

"It moved. The body moved."

"Don't be stupid, John." Sherlock snapped. "He's been dead for hours."

"No, I swear, I saw it-"

The body sat up.

* * *

><p>Fifteen minutes later, Sherlock and John arrived, panting, back at their flat.<p>

"What the _hell_" John gasped "Was that?"

"No idea." Sherlock replied breathlessly.

"That's a first."

"Maybe one idea."

"Well whatever it was, I don't think throwing the microscope at it helped."

"It stopped it, didn't it? I don't think that was the body coming back to life. It was dead, definitely, but something else was controlling it. A reanimated corpse. Like a puppet."

"Or a zombie?"

"A what?"

"Oh don't tell me you've deleted zombies."

Sherlock looked at him blankly.

John sighed. "Okay… But why did we have to run the last half mile home?"

"It was quicker. There's traffic on the route the cabbie was taking." Sherlock obviously thought that that was a reasonable explanation, but John was bewildered. However, he decided not to bother pursuing the issue, and went to put the kettle on. The tea was just beginning to brew when there was a knock at the door. It couldn't be a client, they always had to ring the doorbell downstairs, and Mrs Hudson would just walk straight in, so who…

"Hello!" Said the young man standing in the doorway. He was seemingly in his mid twenties, and unless John was mistaken, was the man Sherlock had nearly ploughed over earlier. "I'm the Doctor, I've just moved in downstairs."

"Pleased to meet you." John shook his hand. "Erm… would you like to come in? I've got tea in the pot."

"Everybody seems to be offering me tea today! Well, you can't have too much, so yes please."

They began to engage in conversation, something about them both being doctors, but Sherlock wasn't really listening. All his attention was focused on the Doctor. He was proving very difficult to deduce anything about, but that wasn't the strangest thing.

He appeared to have two heartbeats…


	4. Chapter 4

**The next two chapters probably aren't very relevant to the plot, but I was stuck on the next bit and I've been dying to write some kidlock for ages. I've split it into two chapters, because it's not finished yet and I've kept you all waiting long enough, and it was turning out to be twice as long anyway. **

* * *

><p>Two heartbeats? No, it couldn't be. But there it was again. A vein in the Doctor's neck pulsing: ba-dum-ba-dum. Ba-dum-ba-dum. Who was this man? And then there were his eyes. He couldn't have been more than twenty five, but his eyes seemed somehow distantly forlorn, an expression that only someone much older would carry.<p>

All this reminded Sherlock of somebody he'd once known. It was years ago, and they only met for a few hours, but it had made such a lasting impression that it had influenced Sherlock's whole life. It was one of the few childhood memories he'd kept.

* * *

><p>Sherlock Homes kicked the gravel in front of him as he walked along the path that led from his school to home. He was only six years old, but already a rift was forming between him and his classmates. They hated him because he was different, he was more intelligent than them, he stood out. He hated them because they were just so stupid.<p>

But he didn't care that he didn't fit in. One day he would be a world famous pirate, then they'd all be sorry. He would be the ferocious Captain Sherlock Bones, sailing the seven seas and stealing treasure.

His big brother Mycroft had helped him build a pirate den in one of the trees in the garden. Sherlock headed here every evening, and today was no different. There was a large cluster of trees and shrubs behind the house, and his den was in the one furthest away. That way, he could remain hidden from view.

Sherlock climbed up to a small platform made of planks nailed between two low branches. He aimed the cannon – a piece of old drainpipe that Mycroft had got for him – at the kitchen window. The house was an enemy ship, and he could see one of the crew members – the cook, busy preparing dinner – getting ready for an attack. Captain Bones would beat them to it. Ready, aim, FIRE! He carried on like this for several minutes, until he'd blown so many holes in the enemy ship that it sank. Suddenly, a voice came from behind him.

"You look like you're having a lot of fun."

Sherlock grabbed his wooden sword and slowly turned around, brandishing it at the stranger.

"Back off, ye scurvy landlubber. Arr." Sherlock hadn't quite mastered the pirate voice yet.

"And who are you?" The stranger patted him on the head. Sherlock glared.

"I'm Captain Bones, king of the pirates." He announced, in his normal voice now.

"Well, Bonesy," The stranger smiled. "I need some help, someone who knows the area, and you'd be just the man for it."

Sherlock looked up at the stranger. He didn't look like the strangers that Mummy warned him about. Those people had big bushy eyebrows, angry eyes, sharp teeth and a sack to carry him away in. This man was quite tall, had brow hair that stuck up, and was wearing a long coat. He looked happy – his eyes were smiling, not just his mouth – and kind. Sherlock decided to trust him.

"I'll help you."


	5. Chapter 5

**The ending to this chapter was a bit rushed, but I wanted to get it out tonight. Thank you all again for all the feedback. You guys are awesome.**

* * *

><p>The stranger took Sherlock through the fields behind the house, and to a small area of woodland. Beside the trees was a big blue wooden box. There was a sign on it that said 'Police Public Call Box'.<p>

"Are you a policeman?" Sherlock asked.

"Nope." The stranger replied. By now he wasn't really a stranger anymore, just a strange man. A nice one, though. The strange man took a key out of his pocket and unlocked the box. "Come on in." He beckoned. Sherlock followed him in, to discover something extraordinary.

"Wow!" He gasped. "It's huge!" The strange man grinned, and then ran over to get something. Before Sherlock stretched a vast circular room filled with golden light. In the centre stood what he assumed to be a control panel, with a towering clear pillar reaching up to the ceiling.

But this didn't make sense. The box was small, square and blue, but this room was large, round, and golden. It was bigger on the inside.

A few months previously, Sherlock had been making a den in a cardboard box, but it wasn't big enough. He'd asked the cleverest person he knew – Mycroft – to make it bigger, but he couldn't. So how could this man do it? Sherlock could think of only one possible explanation.

"Are you an alien?" He asked.

"Yep." The strange man replied, still searching for whatever it was he was looking for. The alien pulled a piece of paper out of a box, and pranced back over to Sherlock. He held it up. It was a picture of a woman.

"This is my friend Martha." The alien explained. "She's been… er… sort of kidnapped." Sherlock's eyes bulged.

"Kidnapped?" He asked. "Are we going to find her?"

"Yes." The alien grinned. He pulled out another, bigger, piece of paper from one of his coat pockets. Sherlock recognised it as a map of the village. "We went down this path to here." He traced his finger down a nearby path that led through the woods and out into the village square. "There was some kind of market on." Thursday was market day. Mummy had probably been there earlier. She always brought something back from the bakery, but Mycroft took the good cakes before Sherlock could get to them. "I got distracted by a stall with a load of clocks – I love clocks. Tick tick tick. Anyway, Martha went on ahead. I followed on a few minutes later, but I couldn't find her. And she'd dropped this." He held up a small silvery-grey object, and flipped it open. I had a small screen, and keys with numbers on.

"Is that… a telephone?" Sherlock asked. Mummy had a telephone, but it was a lot bigger.

"Yes it is." The alien nodded. "They get smaller eventually.

"Now," He continued "What I need your help for is to find out where she's gone."

The alien led Sherlock out of the woods, through the market place and down a side street. The road was cobbled, and the gardens were separated from the pavement my thick hedges.

"This is where I found her phone." The alien said. Sherlock looked down at the patch of exposed ground where it met the paving stones. The dirt was mostly a light brown – it hadn't rained in about a week – but there was one spot where it was a slightly darker colour. As if it had recently been overturned.

He crouched down so he could see under the hedge. Several twigs had been snapped and there was a very distinctive trail.

"Someone's been dragged under the hedge here." Sherlock announced. The alien grinned, and strode through the open gate into the house. Sherlock was about to follow, when the alien's head poked back around the hedge.

"You stay here, Bonesy." He instructed. "I don't know what I'm going to find, but it managed to get Martha." He then walked in, leaving Sherlock alone. A few minutes later, voices began to come from the house. A low hissing noise buzzed around Sherlock's ears, and resolved into words.

"We came in search of the hive." It said. "The female had non-contemporary technology. She may have known something." He heard the alien replying, but he couldn't make out what he was saying. After a while, during which a conversation seemed to be taking place between the two people, the alien emerged, with the woman from the picture walking next to him.

"This is Martha." The alien introduced Sherlock to her. "And Martha, this is Captain Bones. King of the pirates. He's the one who figured out where you were." The woman smiled at Sherlock.

"Well aren't you a clever one." She laughed. "Come on Doctor, we'd better be off." Doctor. So that was the alien's name. They said goodbye, and the Doctor and Martha walked off towards the woods. Sherlock turned and began his journey home.

But he didn't want to be a pirate anymore. He wanted to be a detective.

* * *

><p>Sherlock's eyes flew open. This man who had just moved in downstairs, he was the same one who Sherlock had met over twenty five years before. A different face, but the same man.<p>

Two hearts, a box that was bigger on the inside, and a new face. Definitely an alien.


	6. Chapter 6

** Chapter 6**

John and the Doctor's conversation seemed to be going quite smoothly. It had moved from the subject of profession, through current affairs – about which the Doctor seemed slightly confused – and onto the weather.

Sherlock couldn't stand small talk. Why bother saying something if you haven't got anything to say? Eventually, even the infallible matter of the weather trailed off, leaving a slightly awkward silence. A silence which Sherlock decided to break.

"When were you planning on telling us you're an alien?" John seemed to be puzzled by this statement. The Doctor just smiled.

"You're quicker than I remember, Bonesy." He grinned

"I'm not the only one who's changed."

"What? Oh yes, the face. I do that sometimes. Everyone gets confused."

John seemed to be the confused one in the room.

"Hang on, wait, you don't mean, you're not serious?" John let out a slightly pained laugh.

"Of course I'm serious. When am I not serious?" Sherlock said.

"Oh so you mean alien as in foreign." Another of those laughs.

"No."

"Then what-"

"I mean alien as in from another planet."

"But aliens don't exist, right? Do they?" John looked around, now a bit paranoid. The Doctor smiled and waved at him.

"Okay. Okay. So… You two have met before?" John was trying to look calm, but failing miserably.

"The Doctor is sort of a childhood friend."

"Right. Do you have a spaceship or something then?"

"Oh yeah." The Doctor replied. "It's downstairs."

"I think I need another cuppa." John stood up and walked to the kitchen, muttering to himself. Sherlock didn't seem like he was going to talk much more, so the Doctor pulled a newspaper out of his pocket.

The headline read 'Murder on Marylebone Street'.

"Did you hear about this?" He asked, gesturing vaguely towards the page.

"Naturally." Sherlock replied. "I'm working on that case."

"Oh?" The Doctor sat up. "Noticed anything unusual?"

"Only that the supposedly dead body came back to life."

The Doctor seemed very interested now.

"And where exactly would this body be kept?"

"Why, are you planning on making a trip?"

"Possibly."

"I doubt they'll let anyone in after what's been going on there."

"That shouldn't be a problem. You want to come?"

They stood up to head downstairs, just as John was walking back to the living room with his fresh cup of tea. When he realised that the other two were leaving, he sighed, put his mug down, and followed them down the stairs. But instead of going out the front door, they went towards the Doctor's flat.

"Door's this way." John pointed out

"We're not going through the door." The Doctor called back to him

"But then how are we getting to-"

"We've got a quicker way just come on." John resigned himself to the fact that he had no idea what was going on, so he just went with it. In the main room of the Doctor's flat, there was a tall, blue, wooden structure.

"Hang on, is that a police box?"

"Sometimes." The Doctor replied, pulling a key out of his pocket. "Actually, all the time now. But that was an accident." He unlocked the door and walked in. His footsteps seemed to echo more than they should have in that small space. Sherlock and John stood there, expecting the Doctor to pop back out with whatever he had gone into there to get. And pop back out he did, but not for the reason John was expecting.

"Come on in then!" He beckoned. Why they should go into the man's weird box he didn't know, so he let Sherlock go first.

"It's different to how I remember." Sherlock's voice echoed – again with the echo – out. John took a nervous step inside; to find something that completely blew his mind.

"It's bigger inside…" His voice was half way between a gasp and a whisper. "There's a whole world in here."

Sherlock seemed less impressed. "I see you've redecorated."

"It's bigger on the inside" John repeated

"Do you like it?" The Doctor asked Sherlock

"…I'm not sure."

"It's bigger. On this inside." John repeated again

"It's definitely… more orange." Sherlock continued.

"IT'S BIGGER ON THE INSIDE"

"The correct term is dimensionally transcendental."

The Doctor bounced over to what seemed to be the control panel, and danced around it pressing buttons and pulling leavers. The column in the middle began moving up and down, as a wheezing, groaning, noise echoed through the room. The floor was shaking. And then… it stopped. The Doctor bounded back to the door, and opened it.

His flat was no longer outside.

They were in the morgue.


End file.
